'Twas the day before Xmas Vacation, and all through the office,
not a worker was stirring not even Paul The Snitch.
The desks were all cleaned, per the new corporate memo,
in the hopes that Auditors would not make you a demo.
The workers were nestled all snug in their cubes,
While visions of Walking Dead played on their smartphones.
And Donna, the office manager, and I in my hoody,
Had just finished discussing the spirit of casual Friday.
When out in the mail room there arose such a clatter;
I sprang from my cube to see what was the matter:
Away to the noise I flew like a flash,
Tore open my mail and threw away the envelope.
President Barack Obama is a mind-controlled, time-traveling and shape-shifting reptilian under control of the C.I.A. in association with D.A.R.P.A. He's engaged in a conspiracy to depopulate Louisiana, along with the rest of the world until the total population of the earth is 500,000,000, give or take. Obama was told he was going to President of the United States when he was 7 to 11 years old -- by other time-traveling kids -- and was then groomed to take the reins of power, along with George H.W. Bush, his son George W., and Bill Clinton. (I guess the time-travelers didn't get to 2016 and 2020 A.D. yet.)
This was all witnessed by a fellow time-traveling kid turned whistle blower, who has proof in the form of a single blurry picture from Gettysburg, taken when President Lincoln was giving his famous speech, featuring himself standing front-and-center, although the face is completely obscured and there are no supporting details.
Case closed, as far as he's concerned.
"Thanks for taking this meeting, I really appreciate it, Mr. Jones. You don't mind the extra-wide lapels and bell-bottoms, do you?"
"How could I, it's 1977 and I'm a high-powered television executive, after all. Cigarette?"
"Sure, I just ate, could use some help digesting."
"So Mr. Lipstein, your agent said something about a pitch you had for our new network 'The History Channel.'"
"Not one, Mr. Jones, but several great ideas. When we read in Variety you were launching a new network, I gotta say, the boys and I were so excited we drank scotch the rest of the afternoon and smoked at least a carton of cigarettes until we involuntarily pissed our pants."
"You flatter me. So what'd you got?"
"Picture this: Las Vegas. The city that never sleeps. High stakes gambling, hookers, the rich and powerful sitting right next to the farmer from Topeka, each able to strike it rich or go bust with the drop of a few cards."